


Nigh

by strangeera



Series: Psychic Chasms [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Stiles, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeera/pseuds/strangeera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't the plan. Demonic possession; the easiest mark in the world. The kid inside, the sweet, brown eyed kid who'd seemed so fun to fuck with in the beginning, wrestling control. The demon is gagging, descending. Back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nigh

Abandon all hope. The end is near. The alpha lays tied to a table in the centre of the room in the science lab at the high school; glistening with sweat and vomit. It's intoxicating, the demon thinks. Something is different tonight, though. Something is coming. Something doesn't feel right. Above them, the moon bends and sways, illuminating every disgusting little thing. On the table next to the wolf, weapons of mass destruction, kind of. Personal nuclear war. Garden shears; hedge trimmer; a saw. A black iPad, for recollection.

Inside: **the end is fucking here.** For a thousand years, the demon has been waiting. Down there, beyond. The tables have turned. It should be elated, giddy with the prospect of all that pain, but it isn't. Something is coming. Terror, for all the wrong reasons. It swallows the lump in Stiles' throat with Stiles' tongue.

Inside: **what are you waiting for?**

This isn't happening. This isn't what's supposed to happen. Inside: **hurry up.** Inside: **do it.** Spinal fluid runs backwards, eyeballs into skulls. _No._ Inside: black, for miles. Inside: **you fucking pussy. I'll do it.**

Abandon all hope. Budget apocalypse. On the table, unconscious, all bloody, the wolf says “on the porch”. _Wonder what he's dreaming about?_ the demon asks, stalling. The little pyscho inside says: **who fucking cares?** _Stop._ Something within buckles, snaps; the demon on Stiles' knees and crying. _Please. This isn't right._ Inside: **you'll get over it, faggot. Fucking traitor.**

This wasn't the plan. Demonic possession; the easiest mark in the world. The kid inside, the sweet, brown eyed kid who'd seemed so fun to fuck with in the beginning, wrestling control. The demon is gagging, descending. Back. _NO._ Inside: **yes.**

This kid. This weak, pitiful creature. Stiles' picking up the garden shears with the demons hands. Reverse possession, control lost. Inside: **what are you doing? How?**

“We're having a party,” Stiles says, shears wide. “Happy birthday.”


End file.
